News of Another Dead Friend

I don’t always check my messages as religiously as I once did. I saw the note in my inbox, and I thought it was a story. Or a really profound thought. And as a busy single mom, trying to start a career as a writer…I wanted to save this little morsel for when I had to time to savor it. I always enjoy a note from Animal.

And before me I have these pictures, and all these memories, feelings flooding back over me. The wooden floor. The needle. The hair, the nails, the skin. A chill ran up my spine, like the dope sickness is about to set in. A chill in the living room air from my window unit, while the rest of the place is humid and muggy. My friends here in NC may complain, but it reminds me of New Orleans. It all reminds me of New Orleans some days. Some days, the chill runs up and down my spine, flashing me back…

Just like these pictures. For an instant, my mind, my skin cold and clammy, transported me back to those days. Those days, so far away from these places. These things we dwell on as a writer, committing our travesties down to paper, at last. These memories, these images, these chills up and down the spine…putting me right back in that place. That wooden floor, reminding me…

Reminding me of the Shobar stage, old and worn with the years. Black and white cheap linoleum, and crazy painted bathroom walls. White stalls, and broken toilets. Backs lifted off, and twisted around…to set up my shit. Porcelain, and wooden, and tiled, and faint…faint back in the recesses of my mind…brought leaping forward.

Jarred.

By the memories of the past

These images of

What once was.

This thing I know so well

This thing I knew too well

Still hate to see ‘em go.

And the memories,

Bubbling to the surface

Once more

Spilling over…

The Audubon Hotel. Damn, those were the days. Damn, they ALL were the days. Even some of the dark and desperate days still have this romantic allure. In my mind. Those places, and all the people. Carefree. A piece of me will always long for those days.

Sometimes, it seems they are dropping like flies. Around me, the world still crumbles at times…and in the distance, I hear a soft and melodic music haunting me. A slow and steady beat, rising in my chest and ascending through my soul. A deep and pounding bass, causing my feet to move involuntarily below me…as the ecstasy sets in.

Relax, and let all the cares fade away. Let it all fade away. Sounds romantic. Feels fantastic, I think…as I look back with longing. Then, the shiver up my spine once more.

Like I have seen a ghost. I have seen a ghost of my past, and a tiny little piece of it that really is gone. A tiny little piece of it that really has returned to the realm of the ghostly. The wooden floor, the hair, the skin…the god damned needle. And the fucking apple. A ghost of my past, sending the chill up my spine. And I think I am on the verge of withdrawal again. Only I have not taken an opiate in years. These ghosts crawl into the recesses of my brain, tricking my nerves into thinking old patterns. Triggered, once more, by the images of yesteryear.

I take a deep breath. Look through the pictures again. Spine tingling, and chills running back and forth, as these thoughts dance wildly in my head. It almost feels like I am right back there again.

Then, I pull up Word, and begin to write. Balance flowing back onto my shoulders once more. All of it, spilling out. Where the words have been rather silent as of late…

I look around at this tiny little place, and the tiny little face sleeping across the room. And I think about how far I have come. Too far to turn back now…that is for damn sure. And, I put it down, once more. And I know I am lucky to be alive.

Another dead friend. Is that what this all will boil down to? Dead bodies, piling up everywhere. They have been dropping like flies for fucking years. My heart is heavy with all the sadness, and the pain. My heart is just so god damned heavy.